


Stark's Christmas Carol

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Backstory, Christmas, Christmas is a time for family and healing, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Future, Gen, Hiding in work, Past, Self Destructive Behaviour, Shameless Dickens Reference, even Tony Stark has hope, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony Edward Stark doesn't like Christmas. It's not that he actively hates it, he just can't face it, so he hides away in work every year, like it was any other day, and tries to pretend it isn't happening. He's heard everything about how it's meant to be, but as far as he's concerned it just doesn't apply to him. Maybe the Avengers can show him what real family is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stark's Christmas Carol

Anthony Edward Stark was a certified genius, a well known billionaire, and an infamous playboy. He had inherited his fortune, that much was true, but he certainly hadn't rested on his laurels - he had more than done his part to increase it. He had revolutionised weapons technology in the twenty first century, developing newer, smarter missiles, warheads, guidance systems, defence, in some cases, though he had always lived by his father's maxim: "Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy."

He spent his life on the traditional pleasures: wine, women, and song. Or at least, he did in the public eye. Many wondered how he had gone so long without a single relationship in his life - he could laugh it off easily enough, that was true, but the real truth of it was that there was a fourth love in his life, a demanding mistress, and a relationship which was toxic, occasionally to the extreme. First, and foremost, before anything else, Tony Stark had his work. It was his work which kept him up for 72 hours straight, sometimes more, which left him dizzy with exhaustion, completely worn, but buzzing too much to rest, it was the perfectionist streak in him which drove him to hide there, striving to meet a set of standards imagined in his father's voice, to which he could never measure up. It was easier to hide in his work, to not let the world see what a weak and pathetic failure he truly was. 

It had become harder to simply hide in his work after the Avengers initiative had been set up. Team mates had this annoying habit of sticking their noses into business where they didn't belong. He had been under pressure to give the team a home, after all, the rest of them were, for the most part, stuck in SHIELD quarters, and were jealous of the fact that he had taken Doctor Banner in. He liked Bruce, and Bruce understood about work, about science and tech. And the guy didn't have anywhere else to be. He found it reassuring that Bruce kept hours that were almost as erratic and unhealthy as Tony's own. It somehow condoned his own slow self destruction. 

He never took Christmas off, but nobody knew that - why would they? It was easy to duck out of social engagements, because as far as everyone was concerned it was almost certain that he would have another engagement, a prior one, or a more impressive one, which outranked theirs, and so he played those off against each other. He gave the staff of Stark Tower - few though there were - the day off, at the very least, the week, for all non-essential staff, and so there was no one, had never been anyone, to bear witness to Tony Stark spending Christmas alone in his workshop with a bottle or three of scotch, and the bots. He never achieved anything productive, but losing himself in work sure beat all the forced cheer he could never quite stomach.

It was Christmas Eve, late, midnight possibly? He didn't know, he wasn't keeping track, engineering blindly on a tide of caffeine and alcohol. He hardly drank these days, but it helped keep the memories at bay. Memories of Christmas... he had enough for a lifetime. He didn't buy all the bullshit about the true spirit of the holiday. How could he? He knew for a fact it didn't exist. He hadn't slept in twenty four hours, and so wasn't surprised when the workshop began to waver. Had he eaten? He wasn't quite sure of that either...

He was quite surprised, though, when Captain Steve Rogers appeared before him, and seemingly guided him to sit on the couch he kept in the workshop for those occasions when he passed out, handing him a plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it, the same way he usually did when he was of the opinion Tony needed to eat something, whether that be before a mission, after a mission... after a bender, first thing in the morning, last thing at night... the man seemed to have a complex about food, but then, Tony supposed, if you were used to there not being much of it around, the novelty of having plenty never quite wore off. 

Tony tried to ask him what he was doing there, but the man just smiled, and so, irritated, Tony took a swipe, only half in play, and blinked as his hand went right through Steve's chest, or where his eyes were telling him Steve's chest should be. Well, this was a first, he'd never hallucinated Steve Rogers before, but that being said, it was a hallucination he would have been quite happy to have again. 

"Well, I guess it's kinda neat that you picked my face for the past, even if it isn't really a surprise... I'm kinda wondering why you didn't pick your dad, except... well, I guess we're about to find out about that... " he smiled sadly "I get that this time of year isn't easy for you... mind if we take a look at the old days? Seeing as I didn't get to live through them myself..."

Tony was more than a little wary of the idea of looking through the old memories. As far as he was concerned, he kept them back for a reason. He didn't need the years of coldness freezing his non-existent heart all over again. 

The Steve-vision took his hand, and Tony couldn't quite suppress the part of his brain that noted 'oh so that's interesting, if he initiates the contact, then there's a pressure, a sensation, but if /you/ initiate the contact... you're waving your hand through thin air, looking like an idiot.'

He followed the strange ghost from the workshop - after all, if it really was just a hallucination, then it wasn't like anyone else was there to see him making an idiot of himself. 

They went up, first, and overlayed in the living space which he was used to seeing filled either with builders, or with his team mates after a mission was a towering tree, at least ten feet tall, and perfectly decorated. The family that sat around it could have been from a Christmas card, except for their expressions. The young boy was sitting on the floor, back to his father, dark eyes shuttered, alone. Howard had a glass of whisky in his hand, just like always, and Maria cowered from whatever rant was currently making his old man's lips curl with hate, the occasional drop of spittle landing on her face which she made no move to wipe off. 

The Steve-ghost's eyes crinkled a little, and Tony could see genuine grief there, confusion that a friend he had looked up to so much could have become so bitter, so rotten inside... the truth was that it was easy for Stark men to fall from grace. Watching his father, watching himself when he had been younger... he had no trust for himself left. He knew that it wouldn't take much to turn him into a monster that was no different from Howard, and so he refused to give people the chance, pushed them away. It was easier that way. 

That wasn't the only memory, of course... they walked through other rooms, other Christmases he only wanted to forget, ones he had spent alone with a pile of presents bought without consideration of what he might truly want or need, ones he had been coerced into spending with Obie... memory after memory that left him shaking and sick, trying and failing to keep tears back from his cheeks. 

At the end of it all, the thing, this thing that looked like Steve but wasn't, couldn't possibly be, turned to him, rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, used that hand to tilt Tony's head up to meet those impossibly blue eyes.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, Tony," he said, "But you need to know that you are not your father. You never have been. You are a thousand times the man your father was. Don't let him hold you back. You're better than that."

With that, the spirit dissipated into thin air as simply as it had appeared, leaving Tony to crumple to his knees on the hard, cold floor, face in his hands, tears he had refused to shed burning trails down his cheeks. 

The next pressure on his shoulder was different, warm, solid, but not sheer strength in the same way Steve's was. He knew, before he looked up, that it would be Bruce. He didn't know where these visions were coming from, what the point of them could possibly be... but he had to admit his mind could construct them perfectly, down to the last detail. 

Those kind brown eyes, so much older than his although there was only a few years difference smile down at him, and the thumb rough from lab work, from travel, from a hard life, well lived, skimmed his cheekbone, cool against the heat of the tears there. He guided Tony up, and squeezed him briefly. 

"You don't have to cut yourself off like this, you know... "

Tony didn't know what to say to that, tried to open his mouth to defend himself, but felt a lump in his throat, which wouldn't go away, no matter how he tried to clear it.

"Let's have a look at the alternatives..." 

They began to walk again, through the tower, through parts of it even Tony didn't recognise, the parts he had considered making into space for the team, before he had remembered that they wouldn't want to live with him anyway, and that he was so much better off without them intruding, and always being underfoot, and wanting to change him, lecturing him, forcing him to eat and drink, and live like a normal person. 

It was the top floor, first, the one he would have given to Clint, obviously. It looked like SHIELD quarters, from what he could remember of them, and Clint was sitting on the bed, bow in his hands, turning it over and over, his quiver beside him on the bed. Someone had stuck a bow onto it, and there were two single solitary cards. 

"He went to the SHIELD Christmas party. Didn't stay long, he doesn't feel at home in places like that, he feels out of place, and unwanted, he knows the others aren't comfortable with him anyway. I mean, they weren't before New York, but since..." Bruce shrugged "He doesn't really have a place, except with the other Avengers. Coulson will come in, in a bit, and spend some time with him, but neither of them really get into the holiday spirit these days. Clint's never had a proper Christmas."

"Yeh well... he's not the only one, is he." Tony couldn't quite keep back the bitter reply, but then, he wouldn't have been himself if he had, and so he didn't regret it. 

Bruce's reply was mild, though, as it always was "No, he isn't... Natasha is on a mission, even on Christmas. She prefers it to having to think about things but everyone has their coping mechanisms..."

"And what about you? Where are you?"

"Steve invited me down to a charity thing at a local orphanage and foster home. They're all wild to see Captain America. Not so happy about me, but they welcomed me all the same. After that, we go home. In Steve's case, to an empty room, where he can remember every single person he has lost, because he has nothing that he might have gained. No friend, no team mate, because he has lost everything he ever knew. The world he once had. In my case to an unlit tower, empty apart from the one person in this world I might count as a friend, and who will never let me in."

"I-..." Tony went to protest, but realised he had no basis for it. He didn't let Bruce in. He didn't let anyone in. It was how this worked. How he worked. It was safer that way, for him, and them. There were only so many times a heart could break before it became irreparable, after all, and it was a gamble he had long ago decided was not worth taking. If even his parents couldn't love him, what was the chance of anyone else wanting him.

"Thor is at home for Christmas, because the one thing he has taken from it is that it's a time that's meant to be spent with family... he's not close to his father anymore, though, after what happened with Loki, who is still in prison, and isn't willing to speak to him, and his mother is by his father's side all the time. He'd rather spend it here, with the family he's chosen.... except that it seems that family has made it clear that they don't want him either."

"Hey, what-..."

"They chose not to spend Christmas together, to Thor that means that for all that they are his family, he doesn't mean enough to them, and they don't mean enough to each other, to spend the time together."

"...Oh..." well, that made sense at least, and goddamn if that didn't make Tony feel like a terrible person, "I... uh..."

Bruce shrugged, and gave him that little smile which meant 'I am disappointed in you but I know you didn't mean it, so I still love you anyway'. Tony was more than familiar with that smile. 

"...I don't... I don't want them to be alone... I don't want them to be upset, I just...how do I fix it?"

The spirit Bruce laughed. 

"You're good at fixing things Tony... but to fix this, you need to fix yourself a little bit, first. When you've fixed yourself enough to let other people help you... then you'll open up a whole new world of opportunities. A whole new future. I know you can do it. Do you want to see what it could be like if you do?"

He didn't even hesitate before nodding, his innate inventor's curiousity getting the better of him. 

Bruce chuckled at that, too, and gestured back to the elevator.

"I can't show you that, Tony... only you can see it, because it's a future that's inextricably wound around you... you need to be led by a part of yourself to see that..."

"I don't... what the fuck does that even mean?!"

Bruce pointed, and a glowing blue ball waited by the elevator.

"Jarvis will show you what will happen if you fix this... what you can create..."

Tony had been about to argue, but then, for the second time that night, he closed his mouth. Of course it made sense - or as much sense as any of this was making - that it was Jarvis. Jarvis and the bots... definitely had a bit of him in them, a bit of his soul, his spirit... in Jarvis' case, and occasionally Dummy's possibly too much. But he loved them. He refused to change them. And so, without glancing back to see where his mind told him Bruce had been standing, he followed the blue light.

They went to the roof, and it was cold there, Tony could certainly feel that, but the skies were clear, and this high up, he could even see a few stars as his breath misted in the air. There was a fire burning in a special fireplace in the middle of the roof terrace, and seven figures surrounded it, all seemingly roasting marshmallows, wrapped up warm in coats, and scarves and gloves. There was laughter, the occasional goodnatured curse, and an undercurrent of music that seemed to ebb and flow around the circle. 

He could pick out all their voices, he found... Thor's was amazingly melodic, but the volume made it obvious. Natasha's, too, was pretty clear, sweet and high, like a songbird. Bruce was surprisingly warm, and blended well with Clint's which was pleasantly rough. Steve, of course, had the voice of the chorister he had once been, till his health had become too poor, and Coulson... Coulson didn't sing. But he hummed along with the archer who was emphatically settled in his arms. 

"Thanks for this Tony... it's nice to spend Christmas..." Bruce shrugged, and Tony knew him well enough to read the rest of the sentence in it 'not alone', 'at home', there were so many things written in that simple movement... and he could read them all, understand them all, feel them all... because he felt the same, and his stomach twisted a little at the thought of what it would be like to have a family like this, to spend the holidays with them, to be with people who wanted to be with him... he couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but his reactor ached in his chest, and he knew he wanted to try. 

"And the tree is great!" That was Clint "I can't wait for tomorrow, me and Bruce have split the cooking, it's going to be amazing..."

Even Natasha didn't look as uncomfortable as he would have anticipated Christmas making her. 

"Truly, Friend Tony... or perhaps, if I may call you brother," well, that was Thor, "It is a great honour that you do me by permitting me to spend this mortal festival with those I consider to be like family to me. I understand the importance of celebrating that at this time, and I feel there is nowhere more proper for me to be than by your sides."

"Hear, hear." That was Bruce, and he heard the clinking of glasses, or, in Thor's case, a bottle.

He stood, frozen in place for a long moment, and watched them continue, all those familiar faces lit by the orange glow... and there was real joy in them, not just the sadness that he usually associated with this time of year. It was strange to think that there might be hope, but then, if all the bullshit was to be believed, if there was hope at any time of year, it was at Christmas. 

Eventually the vision faded, and he was left standing on the roof terrace, barefoot, in jeans and a t-shirt, feeling like an ice block. He shook himself and headed straight back inside. It wasn't too late, right? It couldn't be too late, not at Christmas. 

He considered getting Jarvis to put the calls out, but that wasn't personal enough, so he had grabbed his cellphone, and called everyone he could reach. There was no real way of getting through to Asgard, so he had to hope Thor would somehow magically get the hint... unless Doctor Foster knew something... he checked in with her too, and cracked his knuckles, pulling on a scarf, a coat, some boots, and heading out to get everything they would need. Sure, there wouldn't be much left at this stage, but what the hell, he was Tony Stark, it wasn't like money was an object, and for once, there was something more important. 

They had all answered their phones - there hadn't really been that much of a chance that they wouldn't, even at midnight on Christmas Eve. Coulson had informed him that Natasha was back early from her mission, and that the SHIELD trio would arrive by half past the hour - that gave him almost no time, or didn't until he asked them to pick up some things on the way. Steve had jumped at the chance, and was practically on his scooter by the time Tony had given him his shopping list. Bruce was with him, and had rolled his eyes but obliged, and Jane Foster had somehow managed to communicate to Thor that he was needed back on Earth.

Back at the tower, cold, overtired, overexcited, shaking a little with sheer exhaustion, every inch of Tony's body seemed to be humming as he grinned at them all, assembled again. 

It was Natasha who broke the silence, with her traditional sardonically quirked eyebrow.

"What the hell got into you, Stark?"

"I figured just because family might teach you that Christmas is shit... maybe the family you choose is more important than blood. I had a little sense knocked into me. We're a team, and we don't.... none of us have to be alone anymore."

He saw the way Steve smiled at him then, the approval on Bruce's face, and he felt the colour rising in his own cheeks. 

"Not even me."

**Author's Note:**

> A very Merry Christmas to you all, and Happy Holidays generally if you don't celebrate Christmas. Best wishes for the new year. I am not sorry for the shameless Dickens referencing, I've had this idea for weeks, I was inspired.


End file.
